Jealousy
by Elliewrites
Summary: It is a One-Shot. After Paris. Miranda is confused.


Title: That Summer

Author: EllieWrites

Disclaimer: I do not own the Devil Wears Prada or the characters but I have taken the liberty of borrowing them for this story. Please forgive any injustice I do to them as I have tried my best to stay true to them.

"Yes Henry, Lydia, it was lovely to see you both again," I say forcing as much enthusiasm into the words as I muster for the two socialites. I abhor attending these soiree's, all held in the name of charity despite the reality of the industry. Are people so misguided to think that even one tenth of the funds end up in the hands of those named as the recipients?

I feel used. My presence alone raises the price of entry, thus I am partially responsible for continuing this charade. I may as well be an animal in a zoo, for all who wish to make a study of watching my every action and interaction, awaiting their chance to set foot in my personal domain.

The only positive of attending this event has been in watching my first assistant maneuver through the crowd, in a more risqué choice of Nigel's wearing a low cut Dior Gown that accentuates her size 4 assets. She spent the first hour one step behind me, feeding me names, but I sent her away once the meal began. As this is not an official Runway Event I hardly can be expected to know every person on the guest list.

Making my way to the bar I spot Andrea once again, and as if on cue she looks up, silently asking if her services are required. I quickly turn away and continue my path, refusing to acknowledge the girl, as well as the adrenalin that courses through my veins every time she surprises me. Somehow she manages to read me like an open book, and my attempts to shut her out seem futile. I wonder just how it is that she became so attuned to my wants and needs. It is a first for me and I revel in it. It has become a game of sorts to see how far I can push her, and test her. It may even be unhealthy how much pleasure it brings me when I watch her pass those very tests, achieve the goals I have set out for her, and then come back for more just begging me to try again. The high is addictive. I need more of it.

I find a quiet moment in the corner of the bar and am thankful that nobody has dared approach me. I sip the scotch that rests in my hand, and from the corner of my eye watch the young woman who has only once in the time I have known her made an almost grievous error. She quickly amended that error, and I know she will be better off because of it. I will make sure she is better off because of it. Nobody can say that Miranda Priestly does not award talent, and Andrea Sachs oozes with talent. Everybody who has eyes can see that, and watching her now it is clear she is coming into her own.

In fact I realize I am not the only one noticing that this evening. Andrea glances back to check on me and some wealthy playboy to her left is straining to hold her attention. The small group that stood with them minutes before has dissipated, and now she is alone with this young man who seems to think that it is appropriate to stare at her assets unabashedly, not even embarrassed by the fact that her eyes are a good twelve inches higher. If I am not mistaken his reputation is unsuitable for someone like Andrea, who deserves a gentleman and not another Christian Thompson. Her taste in males leaves something to be desired.

While Andrea seems more restless than content, almost searching for an escape route, she still imparts her typical smile on the playboy. My blood boils as moments later I watch her tilt her head back in laughter and he takes yet another opportunity to ogle her breasts. I force myself to look away, and admonish myself for my reaction. Miranda Priestly does not bother herself with the goings on of an assistant, unless it directly reflects badly on her. This does not, yet I contemplate just what job I can give her right now to justify removing her from the vicinity of his filthy hands that dare to graze her skin at every opportunity.

"Miranda, lovely to see you again," I hear from behind me, forcing myself to turn away from the disturbing scene and greet two familiar faces from the Charity Circle. After a few simple words passed in the name of social graces, I make my escape and seek solace elsewhere. Looking around there are few safe havens in groups that would offer buffers from my needing to make conversation. As I make my way towards one of them, I cannot help but monitor Andrea and the man who has now all but pushed her into a corner, trapping her as such. She looks to me once again with an almost pleading look, and I feel compelled to drag her away however inappropriate that may be. I force myself to ignore her plea and the nagging feeling, spot Nigel, and practically run to his side. That will be my last stop before departing for the evening.

Once Nigel welcomes me into his circle and restarts the conversation my attention drifts again to Andrea. I mentally chastise myself for allowing her to become such a distraction. I compose a timeline in my head going through the sequence of events that led me here. It started months ago in Paris I conclude. She walked away. I could hardly remember to breathe thinking she had left. She came back. I could hardly remember to feign anger and instead, overwhelmed with relief, I fully accepted her apology. I barely managed to restrain myself from apologizing as well. This girl, woman, who should mean nothing to me beyond her ability to satisfy my professional needs, invades my every thought.

My desire to slap the playboy to her left is overwhelming. He just grazed her arm and my Andrea appears rather uncomfortable because of it. She once again catches my eye as if she feels me watching, and looks almost embarrassed. My heart pumps and I find myself fighting anger. She is not in fact mine. I take a sip of my drink, excuse myself, and head to find my coat and make my way to the door. This behavior of mine is reprehensible and I take a deep breath, straighten my shoulders, and head for the exit.

In my hasty exit I neglected to arrange for my driver. My mind is still reeling with images from moments before, and I feel out of control. I find my phone and call Roy, practically yelling for him to bring the car around. He responds that he is just around the corner but I hang up before he can finish the thought.

"Miranda," I hear from behind me, and my body tenses in anticipation. "Miranda is everything okay" she dares to ask me and appears by my side looking somewhat flustered. Normally I would have had her arrange my exit in advance with Roy, but I had to leave the building. These same emotions from the past hour pour out of my mouth as I bark at her. "Andrea, your services are no longer needed for the evening. Feel free to go entertain your new friend."

My filter seems to have disappeared and I refuse to allow myself eye contact with the girl after such an absurd statement. She is standing silently next to me, but has not moved. The car pulls up and I open the door myself and jump in, all but ignoring Andrea completely. Roy understands immediately and pulls away, leaving Andrea on the curb.

Sleep escapes me, despite the unusual amount of alcohol I consumed at the gala. Patricia is at the foot of my bed, but we are alone and the house is too quiet. The girls are away at their fathers for the weekend. I put them on train yesterday with a care package from Andrea of "Midnight Sun," all bound and covered, the unfinished Twilight novel. She made sure I carried it with me as I left the office. She wanted to make sure the girls had it before the weekend. I had not asked her for this. She had come up with it on her own.

Yet again I begin to analyze the past few hours, and am left with nothing. This nothing though is somehow physically painful, and it hurts. I want to scream, I want to cry, I want to literally crawl out of my skin to get away from it. My mind races, and my heart races, and I'm just uncomfortable. I have never been so uncomfortable and it makes me squirm, and toss, and turn. Before I know it the sun is coming up, and I do not remember closing my eyes. I invite Patricia up on the bed and she lays next to me, surprised to have the privilege. I finally close my eyes, and when I wake up it is from the sound of someone at the door, and Patricia on the move to greet them.

Hurrying to brush my teeth and compose myself, I note that the intruder will simply have to wait, if they dare show up unannounced at 9am on a Saturday. I overslept. Did I even sleep? I must have slept a bit. I'm tempted not to respond to the doorbell, but as a mother I must at least check and see who it is.

Looking through the glass I am shocked to see Andrea standing on my doorstep. I open the door and allow her in, conjuring the fiercest glare I can manage to express discontentedness, when in fact that is the opposite of what her unexpected presence brings me. She is dressed in jeans and a tee shirt, her hair high in a ponytail, holding not one but two Starbucks coffees. I look down to note converse on her feet, and when my eyes return to her level she shyly laughs. I continue to glare.

"What are you doing here Andrea," I huff, "and why are you dressed like that," I say as this is the first time I have seen her in such casual clothing since Nigel had his way with her. I cannot help but notice how the jeans hug her curves, almost more so than the gown from the previous evening. It makes me reconsider briefly the no jeans policy at Runway.

She studies me for a moment and finally speaks. "Miranda, it's the weekend," she almost sighs, "and this is me. This is the real me." She says and hesitates a moment, staring at her shoes before meeting my glare once again. In my confusion at her statement I choose to remain silent.

"And…and I just wanted you to know that this is who I still am underneath all of the makeup and the clothes," she says and awaits my response. How can I respond? I want to tell her I know exactly who she is but I cannot. "Andrea," I say with impatience as the agitated feeling sneaks up on me again. "What is your purpose in showing up at my house on a Saturday morning, unannounced?" Take that, I think to myself, as that should help her make her exit more quickly and leave me to my restless peace.

I watch her step away and set the coffee tray on a hall table before returning to me. "Miranda," she presses her eyes closed and reopens them a moment later, straightening her shoulders. "I just wanted you to remember who I am so you can make an informed decision in a moment. I'm sorry. I just…I just can't do this anymore." I watch her with her head shaking one second as I'm ready to retaliate with impatience, and the next thing I know Andrea closes the distance between us and she's kissing me. She's kissing me and I'm frozen in place. Her lips are so soft, and her hands are carefully holding my head in place, and I feel like I am going to combust from the adrenalin coursing through my veins. She begins to pull away, as I have yet to respond, and I quickly rectify my mistake.

My arms fasten around her and I bring her back to where she was and the kiss progresses to the next level. Our mouths explore each other and as I pull her body towards mine she moans, and the sound sends shivers through my body. It's electric, and the pent up confusion from the past few months suddenly all makes sense. It was this. I needed this. I needed her.

I don't want the kiss to end but she withdraws, and I can see that her eyes are not dry. She looks at me pleadingly awaiting my response, and I caress the side of her face until my hand is behind her neck, and I bring her back to test her lips again. The kiss is soft, and sweet, and I try to make her understand that she knew as usual exactly what I needed. After a few moments I end the kiss, and holding her hand in mine I cannot help but smile. She remains silent, a difficult task for my Andrea, and allows me to take the lead.

"If that was you going to battle, is the coffee the peace offering," I ask as I nod towards the Starbucks tray. She laughs and I watch in awe as I made her laugh and smile. I can almost feel my heart expand at the look she is giving me. It is full of hope, and desire, and even peace, and I understand now that my feelings of angst were not one sided. She steps towards me once again, and runs her free hand through my hair. Staring into my eyes she offers breathlessly, "I've wanted this for so long Miranda, I just had to know either way." She kisses me once again and it's long and it's slow and it has a promise of more, and when it ends she takes me into her arms into an embrace that promises a comfort and peace that is so foreign to me. I'm overwhelmed, and after confirming that it is in fact what I want I end it before it's too much.

We break apart and I smile at her once again to reassure her that her she is not alone in wanting this, but I need to find some solid footing to stand on. I grab the tray of Starbucks in one hand, and step backwards to take her with the other and pull her towards the kitchen. She is surprised and I almost tug her off of her feet, as apparently she is somewhat unsteady in all of this as well. I laugh as I say, "my darling, I think we have a lot to talk about, but you know how I get when my coffee is cold." With that I hear her utter so slyly a "yes, Miranda," and I just know that I will sleep well this evening.


End file.
